


Dust Devils in the Okami Den

by FrostysaurusRekt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Hunter!McCree, M/M, Murder Mystery, Okami!Hanzo, Trans Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostysaurusRekt/pseuds/FrostysaurusRekt
Summary: "The howling." Zenyatta grips his wrist tight. "No one is safe from it.""What isit?"The young man withdraws from Jesse, curling in on himself. "Death."-Okami!Hanzo and Hunter!McCree AU.Tags will be updated as the story progresses.





	1. In the Dark of the Night

The dark is a comfort - most things can’t see Jesse but he can sure as shit see his prey. Vampires.

Their pale and warped bodies look like strange paper mache attempts at human beings. They sleep in a huddled mass. Most think they're compared to bats for their consumption of blood, but there’s a reason the phrase is ‘blind as a bat’.

The danger in this big city warehouse lies in sound. A vampire’s exceptional hearing will wake them at noise louder than a whisper, and, as such, Jesse has ensured that nothing knocks around on his person.

Jesse even manages to resist spinning his gun as he scours about, though he holds it close- just in case. He doesn’t need to engage the underlings, he just needs to kill their hive Queen. The rest will wither away after.

It’s unnerving to watch the pile of bodies pulse. The underlings breath together, sucking in air they don’t need. Overwatch’s Order suspects the behavior is less for survival and more for scenting their brothers and sisters. The current theory being they find comfort in the smell of each other. A bond that keeps the hive together. A bond that makes them mourn when one of them is killed.

That mourning is a frenzy that sends them skittering through the city. They take and take, driven by an insatiable yearning to find the perfect replacement for the one they lost. Most victims are taken with no purpose and their drained, lifeless bodies left abandoned for humanity to discover.

The Order’s number one rule when dealing with vampires: never kill an underling.

They go for Queens and Queens only; without their leader, the underlings cling to each other and without direction or prompting, they starve.

Through the dark, Jesse can spot a door across the room, the dust smeared away from the handle with use. If the Queen isn’t in there, he is up shit creek without a paddle.

_‘My boot scootin’ baby is drivin’ me crazy!’_

Jesse freezes in his tracks, the loud fanfare of his ringtone, though muffled through his back pocket, echos through the warehouse. His eyes train on the pile of underlings. Jesse holds his breath as their milky white eyes click open and stare.

Their abnormally shaped ears twitch, turning to the source of the sound.

_‘My obsession from a western - my dance floor date!’_

He barely has time to curse to himself before one of the underlings lets out an ungodly screech. In a blink, the huddled mass comes to life.

Jesse doesn’t take time to stare, he turns tail and runs. He can hear them clamber behind him. Their wet huffs scent him out in the darkness. Their ears tell them where he runs.

He holsters his gun, just in time to miss the first step of a staircase and go sliding down on his ass. “Fuck, shit, fuck me!” He yells, trying to get his feet back under him to stop the descent. Instead his momentum carries him forward, the slide turns into a tumble, and he smacks into the cement floor with bruising force. His phone stops ringing for a blissful moment..

The silence doesn’t last.

_‘My rodeo romeo - a cowboy god from head to toe!’_

Dazed for a moment, an awful ache in his side, he gets up, the screams of the underlings growing frenzied as they gather at the top of the stairs. They writhe together, fussing with each other until their squabbles start to bring them closer.

He feels something wet drip down his face, reaches up, and hisses when his fingers brush a new cut. He would draw blood when dealing with vampires.

He doesn’t have time to linger. Instead he gets up and keeps running, praying the exit is nearby. He fumbles one of the canisters at his belt open and pulls free a small bundle; four paper wrapped sticks with fuses coming from the top settle in his palm.

And they told him he was crazy to carry dynamite. Fuckers didn’t believe him when he said an explosion was a handy way of getting rid of several creatures at once.

_‘Wanna make you mine, better get in line!’_

The obnoxious country song continues to blare while he pats himself down for a lighter. He slows to a jog as he lights the end of the fuse. The song returns, startling Jesse and the lighter falls from his hand. He has half a mind to stop and pick it up, it was a gift from his partner.

However, he’s not feeling especially daring with a hive of underlings on his trail and dynamite with a lit fuse in his hand.

Jesse swings under a support beam and drops the bundle then sprints away and shoulders his way through the rusty doors. He lands on the ground outside in a heap.

No time to rest.

He needs to get further away.

_‘5-6-7-8!’_

The blast doesn’t do much outside of the warehouse, but the noise still rattles his teeth. For a few moments, Jesse’s afraid his plan didn’t work, that he’s about to be witness to an angry hive being chased out of their nest.

Until the building starts to groan and crumble. The foundation shakes and kicks dust up all around. The irritating sound of his phone begins anew- someone better be dying..

Eyes trained on the falling building, he digs out his phone and answers without looking at the caller ID.

_‘My boot scootin’ baby is driving me crazy!’_

“What the fuck do you want?” He hisses.

“Is that anyway to address your superiors?” Jack Fucking Morrison.

“What the fuck do you want, _sir_?”

On the other end of the line, he hears Overwatch’s Order’s leader sigh. Jesse can just see the man pinching the bridge of his nose to abate the headache these kinds of calls always cause him. “I was calling to ask if you had an ETA on clearing out- wait a second.”

Jesse looks up to the night sky and watches a helicopter shine a light on the warehouse. A few more specks dot the far off skyline trying to get to the action. News crews.

“Was that you!?!” Jack’s furious.

Jesse shrugs even though his superior can’t see the action and pulls out a cigarillo. “You called me and woke ‘em up. Had to kill ‘em all somehow.”

The Order’s number two rule when dealing with vampires: if you break rule number one, you kill them all.

“McCree, we can’t- I don’t- I will speak to you about this when you get back from your next job,” Jack pauses like he’s considering. “What about the Queen?”

As if on cue, the eerie wails of the damned rise from the burning wreckage. The cacophonous noise drowns out the whirl of the helicopter. The crass, sharp edge of an irate and cornered predator on the hunt for its aggressor. Another explosion chases the Queen’s announcement, the remaining walls of the warehouse crumble inward. And then it’s quiet.

“Dead,” He’s pretty sure and isn’t inclined to find out. Queens don’t mourn like underlings do. They’ll go somewhere new, start a new hive, but on their own there is no frenzy.

“Good,” Jack clears his throat. “You’re heading for the States. West Texas.”

Jesse groans. He’s been there a few times. It’s so _flat._

“Got a friend who called in for a favor, told him I’m sending one of the best. Don’t make me a liar, McCree.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, _sir_.” He sneers, reaching down for his lighter, yet it’s not where he usually keeps it. He pats down his pockets until he remembers dropping it in the warehouse. “Sonofabitch!”

Jack ignores the curse. “I’ll send the information to your tablet. Good luck out there hunter.”

-

The town is small. The kind with a single paved road running right through the center that splinters off into packed dirt paths which sprawl for miles. Big plots of land spot the perimeter of town. Clusters of weathered houses remain tucked behind the busier areas. The family owned shops and greco columned courthouse line the single main road.

Blackwater is the kind of town with a sense of community not so easily found in the big cities. A place where everyone knows everyone and all their dirty little secrets too.

Jesse watches the way the residents scurry to the windows, and unfamiliar gazes peer at him like curious dogs unsure if they should bark in alarm. They tuck their tails and whine lowly at first. Then in whispers from the women who stand on the stoop of a shop and gossip.

“A stranger. What’s he doing here? Who is he?” They cluck, wide eyes peering around to see if, perhaps, their friends share the sentiment. Blackwater isn’t the kind of town to visit for a vacation, and it is certainly not the kind of place to just stumble upon. It would make more sense for Jesse to be here if he actually was a relative.

The sun is low in the sky, painting the sky with vibrant hues of pink and purple. It casts long shadows across the main street, pitching the faces of one side in darkness and illuminating the opposite with its last rays.

He pops the collar of the black coat draped over his shoulders, shielding his face from the biting winds of winter and the inquisitive stares of the townsfolk. He prides himself on privacy. Jesse keeps carefully hidden behind a facade of loose words and long run sentences. He could talk to someone for hours, swapping stories and drinks, and in the end, they’ll walk away only knowing his last name.

Quickly, he makes his way down the mainstreet sidewalk, careful not to brush shoulders with anyone in passing. Too close and they might feel the heat he packs on his hip, loaded and ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

Jesse ducks into a nearby doorway. A six pointed star hangs from the inside of a window and familiar smells assault his senses. He recognizes gunpowder, stale coffee, and polished iron. A sheriff’s office, reminiscent of old westerns, with two jail cells tucked in the back corner and three oak desks near the front. One is empty, another neat and orderly with a tiny stack of files, and the third - closest to the door - is covered in varying pieces of tech. He supposes the technologic advance of this day and age can’t be held at bay by dirt roads forever.

A woman comes bopping out, a bounce in her step. She dances to herself, only pausing when she notices Jesse standing at the entrance. Her face screws up, assessing him, before she backpedals to the door she burst through. “Gabe!” She shouts, leaning into the port.

“What!?” Is the irritated reply, immediate and familiar.

“Your hunter is here!”

An object of indeterminate size is hurled out of the opening, missing the girl by a long shot. Later, when the story is told, the size will always range from a pencil to a full blown printer. She snickers and traipses over to the tech covered desk, dropping into her seat, pleased with herself.

She smiles at Jesse. “He’ll be with you shortly.” She says as though she hadn’t just been yelling in the station.

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down, Sombra!” A man hisses, coming into view. “We don’t want the whole town knowing we had to call a damn hunter.”

Sombra rolls her eyes. “Sure thing, Boss. Whatever you say.”

Jesse takes quick stock of the other man and rolls his eyes. “‘A friend’ he said,” He grouses. “Couldn’t tell me it was my ol’ commander callin’ in a favor.”

Acknowledging him, the sheriff’s face forms a grin and he throws his arms wide open. “Well fuck me sideways,” He doesn’t notice Sombra making a face behind him at his words. “If it isn’t Jesse McCree.”

“Good to see you too, Gabe.” He replies meeting the man’s embrace. “Thought you retired.”

Gabriel pats his shoulders with too much force as they part; this close he can see the gray hair that salts the sheriff’s rough beard. Gabriel gestures around the office, making sure to pause and raise his middle finger to Sombra. She returns the sentiment two-fold. “Welcome to my retirement plan.”

“Sure beats the Florida digs.”

The ex-hunter barks out a laugh, cuffing Jesse’s shoulder with his fist. “A few of us thought so too.” Something somber flickers across Gabriel’s face. “You know, recent events withstanding.”

Jesse nods, pulling his hat off his head and leaning against the empty desk. “Should get started then, I reckon.”

“That’d be for the best,” Gabriel strides over to his desk, picks up a hefty wad of papers bound neatly in a folder, and then makes for the empty desk. He slaps the compiled papers down on the blank surface and stares like the folder was the source of all his troubles. “All the information we have is in there, and you’ll be here as our new deputy. Can’t have the civvies losing their minds, thinking we can’t protect them so we had to call in outside help.” He shoots a look at Sombra again.

Jesse reaches over and peeks at a few pages. Grisly scenes of slaughtered cattle catch his eye.

“That’s your desk. Feel free to do whatever you want with it,” Gabriel pauses. “Except try and surf it down the stairs to the morgue.”

Sombra groans and leans back in her chair. “It was one time!”

“You broke your arm and a perfectly good piece of furniture.”

“I was drunk!”

Gabriel scowls. “Is that supposed to make it better?”

She shrugs and the subject drops.

“The morgue’s downstairs?” Jesse asks, raising his eyebrows. “Ain’t that a little unsanitary.”

“We had a problem last year with people stealing corpses. Funny story actually. It was an older couple trying to one-up their neighbors for the yearly Halloween yard award. Nothing says spooky like eerily life like rotting corpses.”

“And nothing says call the sheriff faster than recognizing your own husband on the lawn.”

Gabriel nods. “Poor Vanessa, I don’t think she’ll ever enjoy Halloween decorations again.”

Jesse was lost, if he was honest, the two of them bantering back and forth about events in the town caused by this old woman’s body snatching.

The hunter clears his throat, gently at first. When that doesn’t seem to quite bring the two of them out of their gossip, he tries again louder.

His ex-commander snapped right back to business, nodding to the files. “Why don’t you get a room at the inn down the street and give those a read.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “I know how to do my job, Gabe. I think I’d actually like to talk to the coroner, then find myself a drink if you don’t mind.”

Gabriel looks quickly at his watch. “Coroner’s gone for the day. Everything’s locked away until tomorrow morning. Those documents are going to be be the best head start you can get right now.”

“That don’t seem like proper protocol.”

“Well, it’s not exactly ‘proper protocol’ to have the town doctor be the coroner too. But we make due with what professionals we can get here,” Gabriel moves to his desk and sinks into the plush chair. “And if it’s a drink you’re looking for,” He gives Jesse a critical once over, “The inn is still your best bet. The fellow there brews his own shit in the basement. Really sweet. You won’t know you’re drunk until you’re on the floor.”

“Sounds like my kind of drink,” Jesse’s fairly certain selling homemade brew is illegal, but if time with Gabriel taught him anything, it’s that he knew which battles to fight. Busting someone for making hooch wasn’t on that list. He quickly tucks the bundle of files under his arm and heads out. Jesse offers a mock salute to the two official officers of the law as the door closes behind him.

It’s darker outside now. Shadows have encroached upon the facades of the building’s across the road. The shift in atmosphere leaves the air with the sharp bite of encroaching winter. Jesse hurries down the sidewalk.

The Inn’s sign is quaint. The small bird in flight decorates the majority and across its outstretched wings is the name etched in a curling font.

“The Sparrow’s Rest,” Jesse mumbles into the fabric of his collar. The sign is weathered, aside from the lettering which remains a deep black.

He steps inside, thankful for the blast of warm air that makes his cheeks flush. On one side of the lobby sits a long bar, a handful of tables are scattered in the middle, and, against the wall opposite of the bar, is a roaring brick fireplace.

The place is still and not a soul in sight.

The emptiness makes Jesse wary.

He takes a step further into the lobby and freezes when the fur rug in front of the fireplace opens it’s eyes.

“No, not a rug, a dog.” Jesse mutters to himself. He stares at it for a moment. “Maybe.”

It’s massive, fur and inky black and it’s eyes such a furious gold that Jesse feels like the dog can see every mistake he’s ever made. The dog lifts a head in a yawn, revealing razor sharp teeth. He’s absolutely certain it’s a-

“Beautiful isn’t she?”

The voice makes Jesse jump and the beast quickly gets to it’s feet then trots past him, radar ears forward and attentive. He follows the dog with his gaze, watching as she puts her front paws on top of the bar and lean over, trying to lick at something - or someone - behind it.

“Mori! Down!”

The dog relents, her body pushed back by a firm hand as a man with short black hair comes into view. The man’s gaze narrows narrows at the dog only to break into a broad smile and he offers her a bone. No sooner than she has the treat in her mouth, she’s back in front of the fireplace.

The man sighs. “Belgian shepherd. We think- got her from a puppy mill.”

Jesse ambles over to the bar, keeping the dog in his peripheral. “Seems rather large.” Her head easily meets his chest.

The man shrugs, slinging a white towel over his shoulder. “What can I get for you?”

Jesse peers at the menu, a sprawl of chicken scratch on a chalkboard with several doodles in the corners. “House Brew.” He thinks that’s the one; he’s heard of everything else up there but ‘House Brew’ is nondescript.

“Sure thing.” The man deftly places an unmarked jar in front of him, half full with a dark amber liquid. “On the house for a first timer.” His grin is nothing sort of wolfish, making Jesse hesitate at his first sip of the brew.

The man busies himself, tidying up a few half-empty bottles behind the bar, wiping down the aged wood where his dog had lept up.

“What brings you to Blackwater?” The man asks while shining a glass.

“A job.”

“I guess you will be sticking around then.”

Jesse grins into his glass, taking another drink. “Seems like it.” The ‘Home Brew’ goes down smooth, too smooth.

The bartender offers his hand. “Genji.”

“McCree.” He responds, taking the hand.

“Only a last name?”

“Only a first name?”

“Touché,” Genji looks up to a clock on the wall. “Do you have a place to stay?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Not yet. Still signing all the papers and other legal bullshit.”

“Well,” the bartender pulls a set of keys off the wall. Genji hands over the keys. Attached to the set is a circular bobble with small numbers hand painted on both sides. “Until it is all settled. Half-rate. Best I can offer.” He winks. “A business is a business after all.”

“Better than nothin’.” He pockets the keys.

Genji looks him over with a critical eye. “What did you say your job was again?”

“I didn’t.”

Jesse downs the rest of his drink and heads for the staircase. Cleverly, it’s built in beside the bar, forcing patrons to consider their vices before they retire.

“Goodnight, Mister McCree and welcome to Blackwater.” Mori barks after him, only to be hushed by Genji.

Jesse makes a beeline for his room.

The stack of files is thrown onto the bedside table. He’ll deal with those over coffee tomorrow. He strips from all of his clothes. Hopefully, his supplies will be delivered the next morning. His job makes staying in one set of clothing almost impossible.

He picks up the round of canisters from the pile of his clothes and plucks one from the rest. Within it is a bottle of pills- Jesse shakes the container trying to judge how much is left. He takes one pill out and swallows the tiny, purple oval dry, his face screwing up at the bad aftertaste it leaves.

Tired from travel  - or maybe it’s the drink finally hitting him - he burrows under the covers on the bed and gets some shut-eye. In the morning, work begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks and much love to CaptainCorgi who gave me lots of writing tips, raced with me to help me get this done, and who edited this new beast. Smooches, hun.
> 
> Tumblr: ryuu-ga-waga-go-fuck-yourself  
> Twitter: @FrostyRekt  
> 


	2. The Messenger

The shrill howl of his phone wrenches Jesse from sleep. With his heart racing and his hands shaking, he scrambles, tangled in the sheets and muttering curses under his breath to silence the ringing. Phone in hand, he has half a mind to toss the damn thing off the nearest rooftop. Jesse opts for the more reasonable route and answers the call instead.

“Yeah?” He grouses already feeling a dull pressure building behind his eyes.

“Who taught you how to answer a phone?” Gabe’s exasperated rumble comes through the line.

“You did.” Jesse replies, untwisting the sheets and sitting with legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He glances at the pill bottle on the nightstand and lets the pained sigh escape through the tension in his jaw. “Time ‘s’it?”

“Long past time for you to get the fuck up. Coroner’s been here for two hours and we don't have all day. Jesse," Gabe says the his name in that exasperated yet punctuated tone of a parent. It honestly sounds like a curse to Jesse's ears; one he finds highly amusing but would never dare let Gabe in on that idea. “Get here.” The ex-hunter ends the call.

Still waiting for an answer about the time, Jesse grabs the bottle and fishes out one of the little, purple pills. To hell with _one every twenty-four hours_ , he wanted to nip this headache in the bud now.

He dresses in yesterday’s clothes, taking a moment to run his fingers through his hair in the vain hope of taming the wild locks before slapping on his hat. Jesse’s hope is that the station has a shirt or something more professional than last night’s wrinkled flannel for him to change into. If he’s going to be playing deputy he should look the part at least.

Jesse takes one step out the door and trips. He stumbles with a yelp, arms wheeling out to the side comically before he manages to catch his footing. A large, furry mass blocks the doorway. With his legs on either side of the beast, Jesse takes a moment to breathe.

Two heart attacks in less than ten minutes has to be bad for his health.

Unaffected by his acrobats and shout, Mori cranes her neck and lets out a loud ‘wuff’, her tail slapping thunderously against the ground.

“Mori! You should not be disturbing our guest!” Genji’s voice carries up the stairs.

She lumbers to her feet and Jesse is sure to move away from her quickly lest he end up riding Mori like a steed. With another low bark, she disappears downstairs. Jesse waits a moment before heading the same way.

Genji is standing far from the bar, bent over and using his hands to brace himself against the edge of polished wood top. He stares at something or _someone_ behind the bar and speaks in a language Jesse isn’t privy to, receiving gentle barks in answer.

“Take it easy,” Jesse says on his way out, a greeting and goodbye.

Genji doesn’t look up from Mori but raises his hand in a dismissive wave.

The streets outside are almost empty. Owners remain hidden in their shops and the few people who aren’t at work watch him with wary eyes. He can feel the weight of their gaze on his back and the whispers fly; Jesse’s a stranger.

He hopes to remain that way.

Gabriel is waiting for him at the sheriff’s office, leaning against Jesse’s desk and tapping his foot impatiently. “Glad you could fit us into your busy schedule.”

“Coroner still here?” Jesse asks, ignoring the jab at his lateness. He rubs the heel of his palm against his right eye and prays for the pills to kick in soon.

“Yeah. She’s downstairs,” the sheriff jerks his head to indicate Jesse should follow. In the back room, from where Sombra had emerged the day before, Gabriel opens a door that leads to a set of descending stairs. “Ladies first.”

Jesse mock bows and sweeps his hand out. “Age before beauty.”

Snorting, Gabriel pushes a broad palm against Jesse’s chest and descends the staircase first. The classic wood flooring soon gives way to grey tiles. One wall boasts several unmarked , metal cabinet doors, and Jesse is willing to bet his life’s savings that some are occupied with bodies. There are a myriad of trays scattered around with chrome tools set neatly upon them, and in the center is a large slab currently occupied by a sheet covered body.

There’s no one else in sight.

“I brought you a gift,” Gabriel says, walking around the slab and prodding at something with his foot.

Arabic curses fly out in a rough voice. “Kick me again Gabriel and I will grab your face.”

Instantly Gabriel takes three steps away.

There's more Arabic and a slew of words that sound familiar even if Jesse can't pin down the exact meaning. With an indignant air, the coroner rises from behind the slab.

He'd recognize Ana Amari anywhere. The former hunter was well known in the community for her sharp eye and quick wits. Jesse is always proud to say he trained under her.

Ana jolts at his presence. Her expression is quick to morph into a frown. "I would come around there and greet you properly Jesse, but," she waves her hands at the wrists in little shakes. "Cleaning the drains." Ana wears dark rubber gloves on her hands that cover up to her elbows. The protective gear is covered in what Jesse can only assume is viscera and dirt that has gotten lodged in the drain over time. "It's a pity I have to clean it so often these days."

Jesse nods in understanding, "That's what y'all called me for."

She glances at Gabriel, "We need this under control."

"Did you bring the files?" Gabriel interjects.

Jolted by the question, Jesse does a quick pat down of his own body. Much to his dismay the files aren’t there. He  recalls, with a grimace, the paper stack sitting innocently on his bedside table back at the hotel.

"Did you at least look over them?" Reading him like an open book, Gabriel shakes his head tiredly.

Travel weary, he hadn't even considered even a cursory scan of the documents. Jesse thought he'd be up early enough this morning to get to them before meeting with the coroner.

Gabe looks ready to start yelling but Ana steps in. As she peels her gloves off and washes her hands vigorously in a deep sink, she continues, "It's no matter. We can tell you all you need to know right here. The files just have the history."

"And the cattle information," Gabriel finishes.

"The vet can help him with that, he could use the company out there."

Gabriel rolls his eyes but gloves up nonetheless. "It started a few months ago. Livestock were being drained and chewed up. Some were even eaten from the inside out. We thought it might be coyotes, but coyotes don't leave withered remains."

"Two weeks ago," Ana returns, offering Jesse a pair of gloves before slipping on her own. "It started with people."

"Dried up, torn apart and left in the middle of town."

Ana pulls the cloth from the body on the slab, revealing a mummified corpse. The woman's skin is pale gray and dehydrated, her face twisted in agony right up until the last moments. As the sheet is tugged further down, it becomes clear what Gabriel means by 'chewed up'. Teeth marks litter the corpse's abdomen. Some sink deeper than others. Some look misshapen as though the woman were able to twist away from the gnashing jaws. Claw marks, raking and rending deep, accompany the slew of bites.

These aren't the marks of scavengers. These are the marks of hunters.

"At first we thought it might be a witch and a werewolf working together, but there are no signs of their presence here." Ana offers.

Gabriel shifts from foot to foot, antsy. He never did like knowing something was killing innocent civilians and being unable to do something about it. "And _that’s_ why you got called in. We’ve been out of the business for a while.”

“Despite our best efforts, it’s hard to keep in the loop with new creatures and new traits. We thought, perhaps, you would be able to offer insight.” Ana drums a hand against the metal slab.

Jesse hovers his hands over the body and looks up to ask for permission. When Ana nods, he goes at it. He lifts limbs, half rolls the corpse over, and just all over pokes and prods at the body. Not that he doesn’t trust their assessment, but true to their word, there are no signs to indicate what could be attacking people. There are no sigils of a witch gone astray and the heart is still intact; a treat for a werewolf, and a tradition to remove it from their victims.

“A vampire with a pet?” He wonders aloud. It wouldn’t be far fetched for a Queen to take up an animal, let the beast do the dirty work and drink the blood after. Certainly a great way to cover up their tracks.

“Maybe, but there’s nothing to say a vampire lives nearby,” Ana hums.

Just as Jesse is about to ask about opening up the corpse, Sombra runs down into the morgue. “Gabe!” She pales when she sees the cadaver and abruptly turns around. “The Williams called, said it was an emergency. They’re asking for you and Ana. I’m leaving now.” And sprints up the stairs.

“Don’t know what she expected coming down here,” Gabe grumbles, tugging off his gloves and following after her.

Ana laughs, covering the body. “Here, while we’re busy, go talk to the vet.” She scrawls out an address and brief directions on a sticky note. “Use my truck.”

Jesse scrambles to peel off his gloves and catch the keys that come sailing at his head. “Since when do you drive trucks?”

“Since I moved to the middle of nowhere,” she passes by him, slapping the sticky note to his chest. “It’s good to see you again, Jesse. We’ll have to catch up.”

He nods to Ana. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She smiles fondly over her shoulder in return.

-

The truck is a demon, Jesse’s convinced of it. The door is stuck shut from the outside, so he has to reach into the half cracked, broken window to open it up. The heater doesn’t work entirely too well, but in the cold, blowing lukewarm air is better than nothing. However, Jesse’s not so sure he’s willing to put up with the foul odor it puts out.

Then there’s the noise. Heavens up above, the noises the machine makes are enough to make him consider walking. The start up hisses and sputters until it roars like a dying dragon, and one would assume the initial ignition is the worst it can get. Oh no, not with this thing- it rattles. Parked, the sound could be mistaken for driving on pothole ridden roads; that is until the truck actually gets on the rough terrain. The truck jolts around so hard and so loudly that Jesse can’t hear himself think. The sound is so incredibly distracting that he has to remind himself to focus on the roads.

On the street, people stop and stare, abhorred by the monstrosity driving down their precious roadway. That absolutely convinces Jesse that Ana never uses this damn thing. The sound doesn’t quiet any when he gets to the back country roads. The lanes are covered in small rocks instead of pavement, and he worries that each little ‘tink’ of the stone being kicked up by the tires is the final noise before this metal beast dies.

Jesse drives for a good twenty minutes following the directions until he gets to the street the vet lives on. The road seems endless and with no driveway in sight he begins to wonder if he missed a turn somewhere. Eventually, tucked away between overgrown trees, a little turn-in appears.

The entrance to the property is host to a large gate, swung open and kept that way. On it’s face is an insignia of two dragons twist together to form an ornate letter ‘S’.

Jesse stares at it for as long as possible, awed by the metalwork.

Unfortunately, as he rolls over the cattle-guard, the rattling of the truck draws him back to the present.

Jesse wonders what kind of vet lives so far away from his clientbase. Normally shouldn’t vets live in the city and make the trips out to the farms and not the other way around? Stranger still is the fact that there are no cattle or horses around. There are no barns, bales of hay, nor are there any feeding troughs. Nothing indicates that the land is occupied by any sort of animal. Why would the vet own so much land?

Pulling up to the house, Jesse gets his answer.

There’s a large fence around the yard of the house, and at its border, a hoard of dogs stand. Their jaws snap with barks that he can’t hear over the truck and their tails wag eagerly. If he was this guy’s neighbor, he could imagine he’d be irate living next to this pack. The farm is a good call, isolated and far from where the noise can bother anybody.

Turning off the vehicle, Jesse looks away to unbuckle and get out of the truck. When he looks back, he swears there are more dogs than there were just a second ago.

The gate to the yard is daunting, especially when the hoard lines up and waits for him to unlatch it. There’s no way he’ll be able to prevent them from escaping.

Jesse looks for an alternative way in, groaning to himself when he finds one.

He climbs the fence.

It’s no chain link fence; the links are thick metal rods welded together, each section of fencing bordered with thicker metal pipes that stand eight feet tall. Jesse is just barely able to get the toe of his boots into the gaps. He clambers up the fence like an uncoordinated monkey. Once at the top, he stops, legs dangling over. The dogs are beneath him now, leaving him with nowhere to jump.

“Shoo!” He yells, waving his hands.

The action only excites the dogs more who start jumping. The bigger dogs are just barely able to bat at his feet.

“Go on! Get!”

The dogs bark louder.

All hope is lost. Jesse sighs, resigning himself to dying here on the fence, unable to get down and starving to death. What a cruel world. A hardened man capable of blowing up buildings, taken down by the inability to hurt dogs.

A sharp whistle catches the dogs’ attention. It catches Jesse’s too, but he’ll never admit how easily that happened.

Jesse watches the canines all scramble away toward the house, heading right for the open door where a man stands.

“It is safe to come down now!” The man calls out and, oh, Jesse can just see his shit eating grin from fifty yards away.

He jumps down, hissing as he sticks the landing a little too hard.

Sensing a new human in their territory, finally, the dogs come rushing back. They swarm his feet, sniffing at his shoes and licking his hands. Jesse’s glad he wore gloves to handle the corpse earlier or this could be a lot worse.

Jesse wades through the sea of dogs, shuffling his feet so as to not accidentally step on any paws. He’s thankful for the isolation of the ranch, if anyone caught wind that his biggest weakness was _puppy toes_ , every creature on the continent would take up armies of canine companions.

The vet is laughing at him, smiling wide with too much teeth and, honestly, Jesse would be highly offended if it wasn’t such a damn good look on him.

The man sports narrow, thick rimmed glasses perched right beneath a bridge piercing. In the prime of his youth, Jesse considered such a piercing but always felt he didn’t have the nose for it. Meanwhile, the vet’s face seems like it was made to host the two metal balls on either side of his strong nose. His black hair is shaved, all except for the top which is pulled up into a hastily made bun. The vet wears classic jeans and a blue and gold flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. From the neck down, he seems like the stereotypical, small town and country vet.

Well, until Jesse’s gaze reaches his hands. The man sports elegant leather gloves, the kind that are tailor made to fit just right, flaring slightly around his wrists. Pressed into the cuffs, and Jesse can’t be entirely sure, but he thinks he sees the same ornate ‘S’ as on the gate.

The vet’s sharp gaze lands on Jesse, raking over him so fiercely that the hunter can feel it like claws traveling over his skin. When they lock eyes, Jesse looks away quickly.

“I would think a hunter would be afraid of worse things than harmless dogs,” the vet says with a deep chuckle.

“I wasn’t afraid!” Jesse challenges, “And I ain’t a hunter.”

The vet quirks an eyebrow. “No? Hmm,” He appraises Jesse again, head to toe with nothing left unseen. It leaves Jesse feeling a tad exposed. “You sure looked afraid. Sitting on my fence, terrified of coming down into their yard.” The vet smirks, ignoring Jesse’s protests on both accounts.

Jesse throws his hands up. “Just cause I didn’t wanna step on your dogs, a guy my size could easily hurt one of ‘em real bad.”

“Come then, hunter. I assume you are here about the cattle and the people.” The vet turns on his heel, striding into the house confidently. He doesn’t bother sticking around to keep the dogs out, in fact, the hoard all stay a good foot away from the entrance. Trained well on boundaries from the looks of it.

“What’ve you got?” Jesse asks, pausing as he shuts the door. “Name’s Jesse- and I told you I ain’t a hunter.”

The vet laughs. “My mistake. I suppose you are just the new deputy.”

“Correct.”

“Who just so happens to be hired when something unexplainable is going on.”

“They needed more help so they hired more help.”

“‘They’ being ex-hunters, no?” The other man gives a closed lip smile, the corners of his mouth curling in amusement.

Jesse does his best to glare holes into the man’s skull. “Who-”

“Hanzo.” The vet finally gives a name.

The hunter holds his hand out, trying to ease the situation away from his occupation. “Pleasure.”

Hanzo stares at his hand like it’s offended his entire family. “Forgive me but I do not shake.” He rests his gloved hands on the counter. “One can never be too careful with their livelihood.”

“Fair enough,” Jesse eyes the man’s gloved hands as he retracts his own. The fingers flex against the counter, the squeak of leather drawing his attention back to Hanzo’s face. He flushes red when he realizes he’s been caught staring at the man’s hands. “Apologies.” He says, reaching up to his hat and pulling it lower, attempting to hide his face.

The vet laughs. It’s that same expression with too many teeth showing, lips crooked like the man is more used to snarling at folks than he is smiling. It’s not pretty in the slightest, but it enraptures Jesse all the same. “Think nothing of it. Staring at my hands is not going to offend me.”

Hanzo pulls open a drawer and produces a stack of bundled papers. Meticulously, he lays each packet on the counter between them, making sure the documents are facing the right way for Jesse to read.

Jesse lifts the first few pages of each packet, quickly finding the photographic evidence of the massacred cattle. They bear a striking resemblance to the body in Ana’s morgue, desiccated and chewed. He only needs to look through a few before he gets the gist; every attack is the same.

“What do ya think did this?” He asks Hanzo, taking note that the suspected cause of death is natural causes.

“Is that not your area of expertise?”

The hunter scrunches his nose and sneers at the vet. “Humor a fella.”

Hanzo hums, flipping open a packet to a close up picture of a cow’s abdomen. He runs his finger along the bite marks, each indent of a tooth circled in red marker. “Canine. A wolf.” He answers with a snap. “But,” he turns the page, a close up of the cow’s face staring wide eyed at Jesse from the paper. Even in print, the fear is present in that dead gaze. “Whatever did this...,” he trails off.

“Y’ain’t sure it was normal.”

The man stiffens at his statement, but nods. “Most animals do not kill for the sake of killing. And the bites,” he flips to another page. “Are big enough that the jaws fit around the necks of these cows. I have seen the reports on the bodies. The jaws this creature has would fit around an average man’s torso with ease.”

“What if,” Jesse pauses, considers carefully how to put his thoughts into words. Hanzo already has him pegged as a hunter, no matter how hard Jesse denies it. Somehow, the man knows. “What if it ain’t an animal?”

“That is why you were brought here, is it not?” Hanzo stares him down, eyes piercing, rooting Jesse in place. “Because it is not an animal that has done this?”

“I’m just the new deputy.” Jesse bleats. “But if I were here for any other reason, I reckon that’d be it.” He’s not admitting to his status nor is he insisting that there’s nothing going on that is out of the norm.

Hanzo leans forward, “And if you were here to hunt, what would you do when you have caught your quarry?”

There’s no good answer; not for a civilian to hear. It doesn’t matter how aware Hanzo is of the creatures coming out of the woodwork. Jesse’s protocol is to kill whatever he hunts and that’s not something he wants anyone to hear from his mouth.

Jesse swallows around a lump in his throat, suddenly feeling like the room is too small. “You mind if I take a leak?”

“Down the hall, to the right,” Hanzo sends him away with no fuss. He must feel the same about the situation. As Jesse turns away, the man begins to stack the papers, a grim set to his mouth.

Jesse finds the bathroom, running the sink and splashing some water on his face. It’s strange how the man’s tone in one statement alone can shift the whole mood. From a strict investigation to something personal- Hanzo’s whole tone had shifted as though there was a deep investment in this situation for him.

He fully intends to go back out to the kitchen, speak with Hanzo about the nitty gritty details, especially the cattle. No matter how on edge the vet’s tone makes Jesse, that’s the next step in the investigation.

Yet, that doesn’t happen quite as planned.

He takes a few steps through the living room when a large, furry head pops up from the couch.

Jesse’s embarrassed to say he yelps. He’s mortified to say that he screams when a second one joins the first.

Large dogs stare at him, their fur a melding of brown with greys scattered throughout. One of them woofs loudly and starts to crawl over the back of the couch, revealing how large it is. It’s twin, a mirror image in fur and posture, does the same.

Both dogs are massive, putting a strange kind of fear into Jesse and he thought Mori was large. He could almost swear these are actual-

Hanzo strides in quickly, worry etched over his face. “Mr. McCree, are you alri- Shi, Sei!”

The dogs clamber over the back of the couch, knocking into McCree as they swarm around Hanzo, circling his legs and letting out soft huffs. They bump into his hands and despite his irritated glances at the canines, Hanzo digs his fingers into the fur, petting the beasts.

“My apologies, I did not think they would bother you.”

Jesse shakes his head. “Just got the jump on me, that’s all. Kinda big for some pups, yeah?”

Hanzo grins, wry and full of mischief. “That is because they are not pups. They are-”

_‘My boot scootin’ baby is drving me crazy!’_

Jesse scrambles for his phone, ignoring how Hanzo stares at him with an eyebrow raised in amused judgement. _“Uno momento,”_ He says sheepishly, holding up a finger and finally getting the blasted device free. “You’ve got McCree.”

“We really need to work on your greeting skills.”

“Gabe.” Jesse bleats. “Thought you were busy.”

“We are. Get your ass back to town.”

One of the dogs pads over to him, licking tentatively at his fingers. Jesse flinches his hand away at the surprise contact and the dog goes trotting back over to Hanzo. “I just got here, doin’ my job an’ everythin’.”

“It’s a body. Bring the vet. There’s cattle too.” Gabriel hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More love and thanks to CaptainCorgi who got this finished even when they're sick. GO TAKE A NAP.
> 
> Tumblr: ryuu-ga-waga-go-fuck-yourself  
> Twitter: @FrostyRekt  
> 


	3. From the Depths

“No.”

Jesse doesn’t even have time to apologize for the sorry state of his vehicle before Hanzo is sneering and walking away.

"You could not pay me enough," Hanzo quips. 

He approaches the bay door to a standalone garage and shoves hauls the heavy metal up.it open. At first, Jesse believes the door is light in nature, until it slams up with a loud bang and threatens to come down. Hanzo catches it and holds it up until the door steadies, no longer at risk of falling closed. Tucked away inside is another truck. This vehicle is not pristine. A thick layer of dust and dirt coating the lower half, but it's miles better than Jesse’s death trap. The deep maroon truck is fit for only two people in the cab; three if someone were to get cozy with the driver. The lack of interior is made up for by a longer than usual bed.

“We will take mine.”

Off to the side of the leading driveway, Jesse responds with a tip of his hat. “Yessir,” He doesn’t miss how Hanzo’s gaze rakes over his body. He isn’t given a chance to return the favor before the vet turns away.

Unlatching the back, Hanzo whistles and pats the truck bed. Shi and Sei are quick to jump in, sitting at the edge and accepting the praise they’re given for a command well followed. Hanzo murmurs what Jesse's sure is pet babble, nonsensical coos that send the dogs' tails wagging. The vet digs his gloved hands into the scruff at their necks. "Back." He firmly barks after the dogs preen under his attention for long enough. Obediently, Shi and Sei settle themselves further towards the portion of the bed near the cab.

Shi grunts with a playful snap of their jaw and stretches out a paw toward Hanzo.

"No. There is no room."

An accompanying complaint follows from Sei. This time complete with a snort.

"Do not talk back to me."

Shi and Sei bear their teeth in smiles, tails wagging in unison. Hanzo rolls his eyes, muttering "Children." under his breath and secures the back latch in a single fluid movement.

The vet loads up into the driver's seat and starts the truck. Just as Jesse approaches, Hanzo throws the vehicle in reverse and pulls out of the garage. He comes to a stop and rolls the window down. Jesse takes advantage of the situation and leans an elbow on the sill.

"Howdy, somethin' ya need, partner?" Jesse challenges with a roguish grin.

Hanzo stretches out in the cab, throws his arm over the back of the seat and gives Jesse such a smoldering look that the hunter feels like he just might set ablaze. This close, Jesse can see the flecks of amber that make Hanzo's dark brown eyes dance. It’s both unnerving and thrilling to be under that intense focus. He feels as though everything about his person is up for examination.

"Jesse."

"Yeah darlin'?" The nickname slips out, yet Hanzo makes no indication if he notices.

"I need you," three simple words should not make Jesse feel light headed. "To shut the garage door." Hanzo finishes, his brows furrowed.

Surprised, Jesse chastises himself for getting distracted so easily. “Oh. That's fair.”

Just as he's bidden, Jesse closes everything up, returning to the truck and hopping inside.

"Off we go."

-

The drive, for the most part, is pleasant. A far cry better than if Jesse had been forced to suffer the screeching and rattling of the broken behemoth Ana gave him. In Hanzo’s muddy truck, the heater works, the radio isn’t complete static, and the drive is smooth over the back country roads.

"How do you know Miss Amari and Gabriel?" Hanzo inquires.

Jesse doesn't answer; not right away. There are a dozen answers he could give. None of them are acceptable, especially not to a civilian. He dealt in the mysterious and mythical. Pulling back that veil and revealing that world to the vet was outside his job description. Then there was the simple fact that talking about witches and werewolves like they existed would make him sound insane.

The thoughts of broad shouldered men with genteel demeanors and white coats comes to mind abruptly. He wouldn’t be the first hunter thrown in the fun house after spilling the beans.

Sensing his hesitation, Hanzo sighs. "I know."

"How much?" Jesse needs to know; wants to know how much he can talk about.

"A lot." It’s a careful answer. "Miss Amari told me enough."

"It's just a bunch of folk tales. Ana's always been big into-"

"I know she and Gabriel are ex-hunters, Jesse,” Hanzo takes a breath before continuing. “I know what hunters do."

“How?” The question flies out of his mouth before Jesse stops to think.

Hanzo tenses up, gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter.

"My mother's death," he drags in a deep inhale. "Was at the hands of hunters."

Jesse keeps his calm, despite how rapidly his mind races. Hanzo's mother and hunters. The immediate question is this: did this new information make Hanzo a creature? There’s the possibility that Hanzo's involved with things far deeper than Jesse first realized.

It reminds Jesse of a saying, a rule of thumb or something, that killers will involve themselves with the investigation; that sometimes the killer gets a kick out of being close yet not caught.

"It was an accident."

Jesse's mind snaps back to the present. He turns to Hanzo and finds the man hunched up.

"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Hanzo forces himself to relax, offering a halfhearted smile. Whether Hanzo's trying to convince himself or the hunter that he's fine, remains a mystery. "What is happening in Blackwater,” Hanzo closes his eyes for a moment. He struggles with the next words. “I wish to see it ended before things escalate. I offered my knowledge and expertise at the beginning."

“I’m surprised Gabe let a civ in.”

“Gabriel is against my involvement,” Hanzo’s laughter sounds forced and barked out. “If it were up to him, I would only do reports on the cattle. Miss Amari, on the other hand, encourages my involvement.” His gaze slides over to Jesse, heavy and critical. “She did send you to my place, after all.”

“To look at your files!” Jesse is quick to answer. He slumps into the seat, continuing in a hushed voice and tugging his hat down on his head. “Seein’ as I went and forgot the ones they gave me. They had to give me  _ somethin’ _ to do.”

“And they have perfectly good copies of my reports at the station.”

Jesse groans, sliding down in his seat; not for the first time wondering what Ana’s game was. A beat up truck and a visit with a veterinarian did not feel necessary.

His phone goes off, blissfully on vibrate this time, making him jump and nearly strangle himself with the seatbelt. Jesse fights first with the strap and then with his coat, both making his back pocket impossible to access.

Hanzo’s laughter is loud, unapologetic with the joy he gets out of Jesse’s struggle.

Shooting the vet a hard glare, Jesse rubs at his neck and answers the phone. Or rather, he tries. The voice on the other line is quick to snap before Jesse can get a word in.

“Are you with the vet?” Gabriel demands from the other end of the line.

Jesse glares again when Hanzo hunches toward the steering wheel, one gloved hand muffling his laughter.

“Ye-up. He’s drivin’,” Jesse picks up a balled up paper from the center dash and pelts Hanzo. “An’ bein’ a dick.”

“Focus, McCree.” Gabe barks. “Tell him it’s the Bloomdales. He’ll know where to go.”

“Sure thing,” Jesse waits this time. He isn’t surprised when Gabe hangs up abruptly. “Bye to you too.” He mutters, shuffling around to jam the phone back into his pocket.

Hanzo shifts in his seat. “Location?”

“The Bloomdales. Said you’d know.”

“Again?” The vet’s face falls to an expression of shock. Disbelief causing his shoulders rise and tense.

“Again?” McCree repeats back.

“The Bloomdales lost a son to this-” Hanzo waves his hand around. “This curse already.”

“Oh,” Jesse looks ahead, suddenly feeling suffocated by the knowledge that while he is new to this terror, the town of Blackwater has been suffering at an unknown monster’s hands for longer. The cattle for months. The people for weeks.

Jesse curses. He should have looked at the files.

They finish the drive in silence.

-

The Bloomdales property is settled on the outskirts of Blackwater; closer than Hanzo’s practice but not quite in the heart of the town. Still, the location doesn’t stop people from swarming at the entrance, clamoring to see what’s going on.

Hanzo swears under his breath. He slows the truck to a crawl to press through the masses, ignoring the annoyed glances from bottleneckers.

The hens stare intently at the two of them as they pass through. Jesse can hear the gossip forming on their wagging tongues.

“The new deputy and the vet,” they’ll say behind closed doors. “So close already.”

As they pull up to the homestead, Jesse sucks in a breath.

There are several cows, all dried up just like the ones from Hanzo’s reports. The misfits from the Sheriff’s office are already there. Ana crouches on the ground with a grimace to peer underneath a sheet covered body. With one hand holding up dark canvas, her other takes notes on a pad balanced on her bent knee.

A ways off, Gabriel stands with a man who appears distraught. The man sobs into his hands, and that gives Jesse no glee. He can tell Gabriel is uneasy about the display. The Sheriff never was good with comforting others.

Hanzo curses under his breath, throwing the truck into park so fast the momentum jerks Jesse in his seat. He offers no explanation and leaps from the cabin.

Jesse follows, though in a less hasty fashion. He strides over to Gabe and the stranger. Jesse can only assume the man is Mr. Bloomdale.

Gabe looks all too relieved when Jesse arrives. “Now Rob, I need you to tell Deputy McCree exactly what you’ve told me.”

The man stiffens, his watery, red lined eyes filled with mistrust. Jesse doesn’t blame Rob for the suspicion, given the cattle and Jesse’s title of ‘the new deputy’. By all rights, Jesse is still an outsider to the people of Blackwater.

“My wife,” Rob begins, pained. “She tried to kill me.”

“Start from the beginnin’, if ya don’t mind,”Jesse puts on neutral airs, nodding and flicking back his hat to remove the shadow from his eyes. 

“I was sleepin’,” Rob grunts, wiping his nose on his dirt covered flannel shirt. 

“This late?” Jesse interrupts. Granted it isn’t late, hardly even lunch time, but for a man with cattle, a rancher, that’s late enough.

“I-” Rob’s face pinches in frustration. “Stayed up too late last night. I was waitin’ on Marge to come home.” He sucks in a shaky breath. “I fell asleep in the livin’ room.”

“She always stay out late?”

Rob nods. “Stays at the Sparrow until closing. She’s been drinkin’ like fish since we lost Benny,” 

“How early does she normally go for drinkin’?” Jesse feels Gabe’s eyes whip to the hunter, expecting him to comment on Marge being at the Sparrow’s Rest, but he says nothing. Last night, there was no one at that bar besides himself and Genji. 

“Openin’. Marge…. Benny was her boy and-” Rob chokes up, covers his mouth as fresh tears gather.

“So you were sleeping?” Gabe pats the man’s shoulder. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I was sleepin’ and then all of a sudden I couldn’t breathe and I woke up and Marge had her hands around my neck. I don’t know what got into her. She’s weepy when she drinks. It’s why I always wait up for her. She’s not violent,” his head snaps up and Jesse can see the bright red scratch marks on his neck.

“And after that?” Jesse plies.

“I fought her off. And now I didn’t mean to hurt her. I ain’t never laid a hand on Marge. She’s the best thing that happened to me and I’d never hurt her. I swear it, I don’t-”

Jesse stops the man’s string of pleas with a raised hand. “I ain’t here to doubt you on that. I just need the story.” He gives a sympathetic smile and Rob appears to calm.

“I pushed her. God, I shouldn’t’a done it, but she was gonna kill me. She just- She hit the wall and fell, knocked her head on the ground. I didn’t kill ‘er! I swear it!”

Glancing over at the body, Jesse hums. “She get up?”

Rob nods fervently. “Yeah, she sprung up and ran outside, started screamin’ like the devil and then collapsed,” He juts his chin out in the direction of the covered body, jaw clenched in an obvious attempt to keep himself from falling apart. “I saw her soul leave her body. I watched my Margie-” He hunches in on himself, shaking.

Jesse purses his lips, prevents himself from prodding further. The man is in pain, losing a child and his wife to this thing that he knows nothing about.

“What am I gonna tell Daisy?”

Gabe looks over to the homestead. Following his gaze Jesse is able to spy Sombra sitting at a lawn table with a little girl. The child is all smiles and chubby cheeks, too young to understand why the law enforcement are here.

“The truth.”

Jesse jumps nearly a mile high with the sudden appearance of Hanzo at his side.

“She’s too young,” Rob furrows his brow at the vet. 

“Keeping it from her will only hurt more. As hard as it may be, in the end the truth will save her years of heartache,” Hanzo says. He places a gloved hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Deputy McCree. I require some assistance.”

The hunter nods eagerly, ready to be away from the grieving man. Especially now that the can of worms has been opened with his daughter. Jesse’s good at listening, but he has a hard line drawn at advice giving. Over the years he’s learned that he’s just not that great at counseling.

Hanzo grasps his elbow, steering him away from the house and toward where the cattle are spread across the ground. He leans in close, his voice hushed. “Would you like to see something interesting?”

“We’ve got jobs to do,” Jesse responds, not looking forward to being reprimanded for goofing off in the middle of a crime scene.

“Look at the cattle,” Hanzo urges. “Look at how they have fallen.” He gestures broadly to the fallen bovines.

The sight is sickening. The whole herd, Rob’s entire livelihood no doubt, laid out in mass on the churned over ground. Every cow is struck with the same fearful expression as though they were facing the devil himself. But there’s more than that, something they hadn’t noticed before because from Jesse’s understanding, there’d only ever been a single casualty per night. One cow, or in the more recent and unfortunate events, one person. There have never been droves.

Laying before them the cows all face the same way. Strung along down an invisible trail heading towards the house. They pour from the treeline, and when Jesse looks to Hanzo, he can see the desire to investigate in the man’s eyes.

They are so much like his own, resounding with the thoughts he feels. The urge to know, to find out and compile information for the sake of having it and, if something good comes of collecting that knowledge, then that desire is validated.

Jesse nods.

Hanzo grabs his wrist and tugs him onward.

As they near where the pasture turns into unkempt land, Jesse draws his gun.

“Usually I would bring Shi and Sei with me,” Hanzo says in not quite a whisper. “I am not fond of being alone, so forgive me for using you.”

“Why not bring ‘em, then?”

Hanzo stops, turns to him, eyes roaming over him like he can’t quite get his fill. “Though I love them dearly, they are terrible at conversing.”

Jesse grins, spinning his gun with a flourish. “Fair enough.” In sync, they step through the boundary between the farm and the wilderness.

As they pick their way through the brush, the daggered thorns of the honey locust catch at his pants. He’s thankful for the thick soles of his shoes, or he wouldn’t be so confident about trudging through the wild growth.

Despite Hanzo’s claim of wanting conversation, he decidedly does not start any chatter. Instead they follow the seemingly endless trail of cows, stopping occasionally to kneel and inspect one body or another.

In the silence, Jesse turns over Rob’s story in his head. He can’t imagine losing not one, but two loved ones to this madness. He can’t fathom being attacked by one of them then watching them die right before his eyes, and left to explain death to a child.

Jesse watches Hanzo stop again, and the question, beckoned by the thoughts of explaining the situation to a young one, comes suddenly. “Why d’ya think tellin’ Daisy the truth about her Ma is a good idea?”

Hanzo tenses and suddenly Jesse regrets asking.

“Because I was not told the truth about my mother.”

The vet rises and walks more briskly down the trail of withered cattle.

Jesse tails him, making sure to keep an eye out for animals and creatures alike. Hell, even another human in these woods would be suspicious.

“I was told that she left us. When I was young, I believed that meant she did not love us, that I was not good enough to deserve that kind of love,” Hanzo continues, ducking beneath a half fallen tree. He turns sharply, meets Jesse’s gaze over the log. “I hated her. I cursed her in my prayers. In my dreams I told her that I wish she had never given birth to me.”

Jesse steps closer yet keeps the tree between them. He leans on the trunk and nods, hoping that Hanzo will continue. It’s a little soul-bearing, for having just met the man, but Jesse’s seen the worst of the worst and knows that demons like these sometimes make real demons out of men.

“When I was older, they told me another lie, though it was closer to the truth. They told me that my mother died in a hit and run. That the driver was never caught. Then, to spare my heart the ache of losing my mother, they gave me hatred instead.” Hanzo’s eyes are sharp, keeping Jesse pinned in place.

“I searched for the driver endlessly. For a long while, it was all I lived for. I spent so many years wrongly hating the woman who brought me into the world, who loved me and was taken from me. I owed it to her memory to find the driver.

“And then,” Hanzo steps a bit closer, his hands tucking under the log and grabbing at the lapels of Jesse’s coat, pulling Jesse closer. “On his deathbed, my father told me the truth. He did not want to see me waste my life away searching for the imaginary killer, so he told me about the hunter and the accident. When he apologized,” Hanzo’s eyes cast down, “I did not accept it.”

“Can’t say I blame ya,” Jesse hums and offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile when Hanzo looks up. “I don’t rightly agree that a kid should be told the whole awful truth about death, but bein’ lied to like that- now that just sounds cruel.”

When Hanzo looks down at the tree again, releasing the coat. Jesse reaches over and tips up the vet’s chin.

“Especially for that long. Had to be rough.”

“I still resent my father."

"Shit like that's hard to let go. It takes time. Hell it might take your entire life," Jesse waits until Hanzo stops avoiding his gaze, locking eyes with him. For once they do not set the hunter ablaze. They are open and curious, hanging on Jesse's every word. "Might not ever happen. There's no magic time limit on this kinda thing."

Hanzo lets go as Jesse slips underneath the fallen tree, joining him on the other side. "There are times I wish there was." 

The vet turns and continues to follow the path of cattle, their journey slowing once the density of corpses increases. Here, the cows are not scattered, they are heaped, as though they trod over each other in an effort to head home.

He and Hanzo only stop once they've reached the end.

It's a scene ripped from a paranormal movie. There's a gaping hole in the ground. The trees all around giving way in the soft earth, falling where they may. The desiccated cattle appear to be crawling forth from the depths of a sinkhole.

The hole itself is large; easily the size of a house. Jesse hesitates to guess that it is deeper but they'll never know how much, for the cows plug up whatever might count for an opening.

"What the fuck causes this?" Jesse asks mostly to himself.

"I was hoping you would know," Hanzo responds, inching closer to the gruesome scene. He tests the ground with his boots, ensuring stability before taking firmer steps. "One thing is for certain. This is where it came from."

"What does something like this?"

Hanzo shakes his head. "I am uncertain. But its behavior makes me believe it is a disease- hopping from one host to the next, trying to get to a goal of some kind." He pauses to sweep his gaze across the woods. "I do not think the cattle last as long as..."

Jesse steps up next to him. "As the people?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think that?"

"Call it a hunch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Corgi for editing again! I'm blessed with you in my life, hon.
> 
> Tumblr: ryuu-ga-waga-go-fuck-yourself  
> Twitter: @FrostyRekt


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